


Brick by Brick (we can knock it down)

by pulltab (Dekka)



Category: Youtube RPF
Genre: Ambulances, Concussions, Hospitals, M/M, Post-Concussion Syndrome, Shock, Trauma, collapsed building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-09-26 07:44:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20386165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dekka/pseuds/pulltab
Summary: It’s Sam’s own voice that breaks the silence that follows the shock, Colby’s name tumbling out of his mouth in a panicked rush.There’s no response, nothing to reassure him; just the heavy, half-gasped breaths of air Colby tries over and over again to pull in.18+ please. Check the tags for TW.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: this is 100% fiction. Please don't read this if it will impact you negatively.

They always knew there was a risk going into abandoned places. If it wasn’t the asbestos, it was the weak structures, or the homeless population that would get them someday. The thought was always in the back of their minds, festering there like a disease with good intentions and a bad delivery, always popping up when they needed the reminder the least. 

When it does finally happen, it’s the weak structures that get them. It happens fast and seemingly painless, if not for the way Colby’s head snaps back as he hits the ground. 

Sam doesnt even have a chance to react, stuck on stable ground as his best friend falls through rotted wood beams. 

One second the floor under them was creaking, and the next, Colby is left staring up at him, his eyes falling closed quickly, squeezed shut against the onslaught of pain. 

The moment feels like a second in reverse, time somehow stretched on forever while never completely passing. 

It’s Sam’s own voice that breaks the silence that follows the shock, Colby’s name tumbling out of his mouth in a panicked rush. 

There’s no response, nothing to reassure him; just the heavy, half-gasped breaths of air Colby tries over and over again to pull in. 

Sam told him they shouldn’t have gone anywhere the ground was unstable. Sam made him promise he’d check each room and somehow, still, it feels like his fault as Colby gasps under him, easily five feet lower than the original flooring, concrete at his back holding him up from a much deadlier drop. 

“Colby talk to me,” he begs.

He gets nothing but the restless, confused shake of Colby’s head, as if he cant bear the input of the world around him. 

Then and there, Sam makes his own diagnosis: concussion, cracked ribs, maybe, a broken bone or two if they’re unlucky. 

It’s the concussion that’s scaring him the most now. 

“Try to reach my hand,” Sam yells, laying down on his stomach so he can get as close as possible. 

Colby doesnt even look up, the dust from the commotion settling around him like a blanket. He looks pale under its filter, like he’s just another abandoned thing left to decay until the next disturbance.

“Colby, please,” Sam begs, again. 

If it weren’t for Colby’s gasped breathing and clenched eyes, Sam would doubt he was alive at all. 

“_Please,_.” 

Something about the desperation in his voice must stir something in Colby. 

“Sam?” He asks.

“It’s me, Colby, It’s me, I’m here.” Sam feels useless, his fingers stretched out, reaching to help, and somehow still he comes up feet too short, his best friend laying prone under him. 

“Sam?” He barely breathes, hanging onto each word Colby mumbles out. “What’s happening?” 

The confusion sends his heart racing into panic. 

“It’s going to be okay, Colby,” he doesnt believe his own words, “just open your eyes and grab my hand.” 

It takes minutes more- of silence, of reminders, of empty promises- to get Colby sitting up and aware. 

“I fell?” He asks again, for the hundredth time. 

Sam tries to be patient, but he can only waste so much time keeping Colby calm. “I need you to grab my hand right now. We need to get out of this building.” There’s not much more he can say, but his final words hit differently - “_It isn't safe_.” 

Still helplessly unaware, Colby blinks up at him, and finally seems to understand the fear in his voice if nothing else. 

“I trust you,” he promises Sam, and for the first time since their night fell apart, Sam take a steady breath in. 

“Then grab my hand, Colby,” he says, and by some miracle Colby goes willingly, reaching out for help even when he doesnt understand why he needs it. 

It’s a battle to get him pulled up back on the original flooring, but Sam manages, strength coming out of his shaking terror and adrenaline. 

“You’re okay,” he promises Colby, and the wide, innocent eyes that stare back at him, so trusting, force something fierce in him to raise up. “Everything is going to be okay.” 

He cant help but pull Colby into his side, trying to be careful with him even as he holds him close, afraid to let go. 

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” Colby whispers into Sam’s shoulder. The confession breaks his heart. 

“I’m getting you out of here,” he promises. 

It’s not a small task. 

Colby is unsteady on his feet at best, his concussion making him stutter and stop over and over again, forgetting where they are and why they have to get out. 

Sam keeps him close all the while, Colby’s arm draped over his shoulder, his weight leaning against him. 

It’s a relief once they’re finally to the curbside, outside of the abandoned building they were exploring. 

“Carefully,” Sam reminds Colby, as he helps him sit down on the pavement. 

He’s slow with soreness, and doesnt protest as Sam pulls out his phone to call an ambulance; it’s his first clue in to just how bad Colby’s concussion must be. 

Explaining their situation to the operator just makes it feel more unreal. He knows shock is settling in now that they’re safe, but knowing that and feeling it are still two very different beasts. 

Just then, the coldness of the night dawns on him. 

“Stay on the line, please,” the operator reminds him, their voice tiny over the speaker as his phone hangs uselessly in his hand, at his side. 

He doesnt think he could hold it to his ear if he tried. 

He’s tired. 

He’s scared. 

And Colby’s fairing no better, listing to the side like he’s ready to fall. 

“I’ve got you,” Sam promises him, catching him as he makes room for himself on the curb. Colby doesnt even think to hesitate, crashing into his side until he can curl into him. 

“You’re cold,” he tells Sam. 

And Sam thinks of Colby’s pale face, his blank stare, and gasping breaths. “I know.” 

They don’t talk for minutes on end, not until the operator’s voice gets louder, loud enough to shock Sam into reaching for his forgotten phone. 

“I’m here,” he says. It feels like a reassurance, like he’s on autopilot. 

“They’re two minutes out, you should hear the sirens soon, just keep talking to your friend.” The operator’s voice is calm, slow even. 

Sam sinks into their tone. He feels weighted, heavy with the burdens he bears. “I don’t think I can,” he admits, shaken by the honesty of his own admission. 

“You can,” they say back, “stay alert. You’re slipping into shock, Sam, but your friend needs you right now. I’m going to need you to keep him talking, keep him awake.”

It makes sense. 

He should do it. 

But he feels like cement, slowly drying down into nothing. 

“Is your friend awake still? Can you see any blood?” 

Sam looks down at Colby’s head, buried in his shoulder. “I don’t want to move him,” he finds himself saying.

He can feel Colby like this; his breathing perfectly synced with his own. 

“Sam, they’re a minute out. I just need to know if he’s bleeding. You said he fell from a high hight. Can you recall if he landed on anything?” 

The images come back in bursts: Colby’s wide, panicked eyes, his face twisted in pain, then, finally, his unfocused gaze, him unaware of the world around him or the danger they were in. 

“No,” Sam finally answers, unable to think past the images. 

“Okay, that’s okay, Sam. Paramedics are seconds out,” the operator promises. Something in their tone has gone soft, their job done with help only so many feet away. 

On cue, the flashing lights that round the corner blind him. 

His arm instinctively tightens around Colby, his own breath caught short in his chest as they’re bombarded. 

“I’m John, are you Sam?” The first paramedic doesn’t spare a second, crowding him as he nods. 

“This is Meghan and Rob,” he explains in a overly cautious tone that betrays his fast and precise movements, “They’re going to help your friend.” 

Sam feels like he’s shaking apart, unable to release his grip on Colby. “I cant-” he starts to say, but Meghan’s hand lands on his shoulder, pulling his attention to her. 

“Sam, you’re okay. Just breathe,” she reminds him, getting his focus away from Colby as she motions him to breathe in and out steadily. 

He doesnt feel them pull Colby from his side or see them lay him down in the damp grass. 

It takes him minutes of breathing, then another minute with an oxygen mask, for him to come back to himself. 

“He’s cold,” Sam says. 

Meghan pulls the blanket she wrapped around him tighter. “That’s the shock-” she starts, but Sam pushes off the blanket altogether, feeling like he’s floating as he jumps down from where he somehow ended up, sitting in the back of the ambulance. 

“Colby,” he says, and tries to walk closer. His best friend is as still as ever, his ripped skinny jeans and black vans all that’s visible under the bulk of the two paramedics at his sides. 

He’s so still. 

“He’s cold,” he tells Meghan, even as she pulls him back to sit down. “You have to get him a blanket.” 

“He’ll be back here with you in a second,” she promises. “He’ll be warm then, Sam.” 

“Just let me see him,” Sam begs, afraid that if he loses time again that Colby will somehow be gone. 

She relents as far as the bumper of the ambulance, making him sit while she patches up cuts on his arms and legs from pulling Colby through the building. 

He has to watch as they strap an oxygen mask over Colby’s face. He has to watch as they lift him onto a stretcher and tuck him away. 

He can’t look away. 

“Ready for load up,” John says, strikingly loud, and in response Meghan and Rob switch places with practiced ease. Sam can barely get his feet to move his body out of the way as they get Colby into the back. 

“Radio when ready,” Rob says, and leave Meghan and John to herd Sam in behind Colby. 

“Ready Bus 23,” Meghan speaks into her radio. John slams the doors behind himself and turns his own radio on. “St. Mary’s, we’ve got an incoming Male, 22, head trauma with contusions to ribs eight and nine, left, and seven and eight, right. We’re looking at slight cranium pressure build up and possible fracture to the back of the skull. Oxygen blood level is stable. Incoming, Bus 23.” 

Sam soaks the man’s words in slowly, sat across from Colby’s peacefully closed eyes, his mask fogged from each breath out. 

“He’s okay?” Sam asks Meghan. 

She smiles at him sympathetically, hands busy with needles and tubes that lead into Colby’s arm and to his chest. 

“He’s stable,” she promises him, and pauses only for a second to dig in another bin above their heads. “Eat this,” she prompts, and throws him a granola bar. “It’ll help, with the shock. You’re going to feel spacey for a while. Try to stay calm until we can get a nurse to check you over at the ER.” 

He cant imagine getting to the hospital and being taken to the back like he’s seen in so many movies. “I need to stay with Colby,” he says, sure of that and only that. 

She nods. “We’ll let the attending nurse know that you two came in together. But you have to get checked out too. There’s some cuts on your legs from the building that might require some shots.” 

“I have my tetanus shot,” Sam argues, but she waves off his words. “You could’ve been scraped with anything. The doctor will decide what to do.” 

Without anything more to argue, he sits back heavily, watching carefully for each rise and fall of Colby’s chest. 

It’s surreal, to see him like this. 

Even more so when Colby’s so still, his eyes fluttering but still closed, his hand just barley hovering, cupped gently around his ribs. 

‘Contusions,’ John had said, to four of them. 

“Are they broken?” Sam asks, nodding to where Colby’s hand rests. 

“We wont be sure until they do x-rays,” John answers apologetically.

They hit the slightest bump in the road, but it’s enough for Colby’s eyes to slowly blink open and his gaze to dizzily trace the roof of the ambulance. 

“Cole, you’re in the back of an ambulance, we’re getting you help, buddy. Just stay calm,” John says, his hands suddenly in motion now that Colby’s awake. 

“Are you feeling any pain?” Meghan asks, hovering at his head, trying to get his eyes to focus. 

Blearily, Colby nods, and John’s hands fiddle with a drip. 

“You’re going to start to feel warm,” Meghan tells him, “I want you to relax into that feeling, Cole. You’re doing great.”

“It’s Colby,” Sam reminds them, mindlessly. It’s the least of their worries, but it feels important as he’s stripped of so much of himself. 

At Sam’s voice, Colby struggles to get a look at him, weakly searching for him with eyes too heavy to keep open. 

“I’m right here,” Sam promises, and somehow his hand finds its way through wires and paramedics and into Colby’s. “You’re going to be fine.” 

The repeat of his earlier words strike him hard to the chest, taking his breath away once more. 

He could’ve never imagined that their careers would take them to this moment in time- holding onto each other as the dangers of their lives finally catch up to them. 

In the silence of the moment, he finally allows himself to take a second to just breathe. _They’re okay_, and that’s all he can ask for.__


	2. Chapter 2

A blip on a nearby machine forces Sam’s eyes open, his moment of peace left hanging, waiting to fall. 

“Oxygen is dropping,” Meghan points out, tone stiff. 

Her words make the hairs on the back of Sam’s neck stand up. 

The alarm that follows sends that chill straight down his spine and through his whole body. 

“We’ve got a BP alarm, systolic and diastolic are too low,” John says, flicking the alarm off with an agitated jab. “Radio it in, Meg. We need a meet at arrival in under five minutes.” 

She does so with one hand, her voice strong into the mic even as she checks Colby’s pupils and scribbles frantically on her board. 

“No dilation from right eye,” she announces the second her radio cuts off. 

“What does that mean?” Sam asks, trying to keep up, trying not to let fear in. 

She brushes past him, “Please stay back,” and moves him further down the bench side, leaving them room to work. It only serves to scare him more.

“Colby, cut this shit out man,” Sam swears, praying as much as he is begging. “You gotta be okay.” 

He never gets an answer. 

Minutes pass in frantic movement and voices while Sam helplessly stares until the back doors swing open to the bright lights of the hospital bay. 

“He’s going to be okay,” Meghan says, even as Rob and John lead Colby away in a rush that tests her honesty. “We don’t get regression often, Sam.” 

Her words don’t register at first. 

She leads him into the ER slowly, at odds with the flurry of movement ahead of him, surrounding Colby. “John said that Colby was aware when we first arrived on scene.” 

Sam nods, but still, her words don’t reassure him the way she means them to. 

“Go check in at the desk, tell them you’re with Cole Brock,” she prods, handing him off to a nurse who listens more to her instructions than Sam does. “They’ll get you when they’re ready. You’ll be okay.” 

In the end, he’s left sitting in a waiting room, bouncing two clip boards anxiously on his knee. After everything, it feels surreal to be sitting still. He should be doing something, he thinks, but he cant manage to imagine what that something is. 

So he tries to breathe. 

It’s all he does for hours on end. 

In and out, over and over again until he swears he’ll go mad if he has to take another breath. 

Just to distract himself, he counts the seconds in a minute, then a hour. 

Nothing works. 

Each pull of air restarts another ten seconds of waiting, another ten of wondering if Colby’s even alive. They wont tell him anything.

By the time he’s driven himself mad, a nurse pulls him into the back to check him out. 

She confirms his shots, gives him one more, and checks the scrapes he got pulling them out of the building. It’s perfunctory; sign here, confirm here, date here. 

He’s free to go back to waiting.

There’s a thousand and one questions on the sheets they gave him earlier, but his hands wont stop shaking enough to allow him to write. 

He doesnt think he knows Colby’s or even his own medical history right now anyway. 

“I can’t fill these out all the way,” he tells the nurse at the reception desk.

She gives him a sad, knowing smile. “That’s okay, Hun.” 

When he hovers, unsure of what’s supposed to happen next, she takes pity on him. 

“Listen, why don’t you call someone you know so that they can wait with you? We’ve got a long list of people tonight, it’ll take a while to get your friend figured out and settled.” 

It’s something he should’ve thought about hours ago- calling their friends, his parents. Colby’s too. They don’t deserve to hear that their son’s been injured by a stranger from the hospital’s call center. 

“I will,” Sam promises the women. “Is it okay if I step outside?” 

She gives him a quick nod. “Maybe take a trip down to the cafeteria too,” she suggests. “If there’s been any news on your friend, I can find you when you come back.” 

Sam doesnt think he’d be able to find his way through the hospital hallways, but he tells her he will anyway. He doesnt want to disappoint her. 

When he gets outside, it feels like the weight of the humid air takes his breath away all over again. He would’ve thought by now that he’s well practiced enough to know how to pull air in, in any situation. But all he can do is take the breathlessness in stride, his fumbling hands pulling up his parent’s contact info.

“Mom?” He asks, the second his phone picks up a signal and the ringing stops. 

Her voice comes through right on top of his, tight with panic. “Sam? Oh my God, Sam, are you okay? Colby’s parents just called me. I don’t know what’s going on.”

He cant even get the words out, lost on how to even begin to break the news. 

Somehow, he’s felt all this time that if he just stayed an observer instead of a participant, none of this would be real. Talking the night’s events into existence is too much- is proof of a reality he hasn’t come to terms with. 

“Mom-” he chokes out. His voice is ruined, the breath he’s unable to take lodged in his throat like a muzzle. 

“Sam are you okay? Please just tell me you’re okay.” He cant stand how scared she sounds. He cant stand knowing that Colby’s parents are probably just as out of their minds with worry- and that they wont get the relief of hearing their son say he’s okay. 

“I’m fine,” he manages to promise, even as his knees give out from under him, forcing him to sit bundled up on the curb just outside the hospital doors. “It’s Colby, Mom. He’s- he’s hurt really bad.” 

The words alone make the tightness in his throat constrict, choking him back into a whimpering silence. He doesnt know how long he sits there, his shaking hand holding his phone to his ear in a death-grip as his Mom tries to soothe him from thousands of miles away. 

It isn't right. 

None of this is right. 

Stuff like this wasn’t supposed to happen to them. 

***

He spends two hours on the phone with his Mom, sinking into her tone as she books plane tickets and packs a bag. 

“I have to go, honey,” she tells him apologetically. Behind her, he can hear the rush of traffic mixed in with his Dad’s lower voice. 

“It’s okay, I should go back in anyway.” His feet kick at islands of pebbles he’s drawn on the pavement. He doesnt feel as heavy anymore.

“We’ll be there before you know it, Sam. We’re picking up Colby’s parents now.” 

He nods his goodbye, forgetting she cant see him. “See you soon,” he echos. 

Even after he gathers himself and finds his way back to the waiting room, it takes hours more for Colby’s name to get called, long after their parents have boarded a flight. 

Just minutes ago, news of what’s happened broke to social media, and while panic is being relived over again by people all over the world, it all feels finite to Sam- almost meaningless as he’s lead down hallways by Colby’s doctor. 

He waited so long that it feels like a dream as rooms fly past them, each looking exactly like the last.

Colby’s doctor is a frantically calm, short women, her legs half the size of Sam’s and still he struggles to keep up with her pace. 

All the while, she reads off Colby’s injuries like a grocery list. “We’re looking at a hairline fracture to the skull, buildup in the brain, three broken ribs- one bruised, a sprained wrist, and a lung infection.” 

“_Lung infection_?” The surprise of it forces Sam to a stand-still. 

She barely looks back, “You said the building was abandoned?” 

“Yeah, for years,” he answers, jogging in double time just to keep up with her. 

“Was there a lot of dust when he fell?” 

Sam tries to not get lost in the image that assaults him, of Colby laying on that slab of concrete like he’d never get up again. “It was like a blanket over him, of dirt.” 

She nods, knowingly, “He breathed in a lot of things he shouldn’t have- plaster, dust- anything that was airborne at the time. Infection set in fast.” 

Sam doesnt notice they’ve stopped moving until she motions him forward, through a door. 

There’s no time to prepare himself for the sight of Colby, motionless and pale against hospital sheets. 

For the thousandth time that day, the air is punched from Sam’s lungs. 

It’s wrong. It’s _unnatural,horrifying,sickening_; it’s a million words and feelings that hit Sam like a tidal wave and drag him under the current, taunting him with the idea of air- of a different outcome- just out of reach. 

It should’ve been him in that bed. 

Yet despite everything, especially the first rush of feeling- the hate and guilt he’s drowning in- he can’t help but think that Colby seems so impossibly _small_.

Compared to the machines and IV drips around him, and wires crossed along his chest and arms, and the oxygen mask taking over half his face, he looks like the kid he is. Heartbreakingly young and peaceful in sleep, he has no idea of the turmoil around him. 

Sam’s been waiting for this moment for hours, yet now that it’s here, he cant even force himself to step closer. 

A second glance alone is enough to turn his stomach viciously, his mind’s anxieties eating away at his organs. 

“We’re letting him sleep for now,” the doctor explains, both of them stuck hovering just inside the doorway, “he was getting agitated, so we gave him something to calm him down.” 

Sam can only nod, his eyes carefully focused on the chart in the doctor’s hand as he refuses to look anywhere else. 

“Are you going to be okay?” She asks. 

Silent, Sam nods. 

“I have to admit you if you have a panic attack,” she tells him bluntly. “You wont be able to see him again until you clear a psych eval.” 

His eyes close then, and he wonders to himself if it’s even worth it to open them again and face this all alone. 

“Sam?” She questions, worried.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he makes his decision. “I’m good, really.” His voice is just a croaked whisper. 

She doesnt seem so sure, and gently, her hand comes up to his shoulder, leading him closer to the bed he cant look at. “I’ll give you a minute,” she says, “There’s a call button on the side, here. The ER is packed tonight, so I likely won’t see you again today, but a nurse will come if you need anything.” 

Before she goes, she gives him one last look. “He’ll be okay, Sam. But he’s going to need you to be the calm one.” 

“I don’t know how I can-” he starts, the need to confess his fear suddenly pounding against his mouth’s door. 

But she doesnt allow him to breakdown, instead leveling him with a hard stare that cuts off his plane of thought. “Cole was angry before. It’s not uncommon with head trauma-”

Just the words ‘head trauma’ send Sam reeling. 

“-for him to mismanage his emotions. You’re going to need to be a steady foundation for him. I’m afraid this isn't going to be an easy recovery.” 

After everything, it’s so unfair. It’s all too much to ask him to go through and then be okay. And yet, something in him responds, lighting up hot, like anger. 

He’s going to do whatever he can to help Colby. 

Whatever it takes to get them home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I continue this I'm thinking of adding more characters so let me know who you'd like to see or what you'd like to see happen!
> 
> Comments feed the writer :)


	3. Chapter 3

Sam’s resolve lasts ten minutes, maybe fifteen, if you count the five he spends dutifully watching the too-fast rise and fall of Colby’s chest. 

He’s just too exhausted to hold his determined mindset, and the chair by Colby’s bedside ends up being too temping not to use after the night he’s had. 

The placement of it only forces him closer to everything he's been avoiding. 

“Hey man,” he whispers, as he settles in. 

The piercing silence is all that answers him. Even the heart monitor is muted. Earlier, a nurse told him the sound was too much for Colby in the short period he was cognizant. 

“Our parents are gonna be here soon.” Sam eyes the five hospital bands wrapped around Colby’s wrist. “You gotta be awake by then. Your mom is going to kill me if you aren't.” One thin, bright yellow band boasts ‘fall risk,’ another ‘head trauma,’ another Colby’s name, date of birth, and age. 

Sam’s fingers push them around mindlessly, reading them and separating them by color. Colby’s hand is right there too, but the statuesque marble of it is hard to comprehend and even harder to reach out for to hold. 

Somehow, the wristbands feel safe, sterile in nature and easier to focus on. 

If he keeps his mind on them, it’s like Colby’s just asleep next to him. 

Sam can almost imagine this as a regular weekend night, the lull of a movie echoing in the background and the trap house blissfully silence for once. 

As he sinks into the idea, adrenaline seems to drain out of his system, leaving his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

He can't give himself permission to drift away, but with Colby in front of him, tangibly okay, it’s peaceful enough that Sam’s head dips, then dips again. 

Eventually his fingers fall lax, tangled in the maze of bands and wires by Colby’s wrist. 

***

Sam comes to after what feels like days later, his eyelashes slowly blinking open against rough hospital sheets. 'Disoriented' doesn't even begin to explain his mindset as he rubs the sleep from his eyes and pulls his head up from where it was resting, against Colby's knee. 

Reality comes back to him slowly, right in time with the rise and fall of Colby's chest. 

It wasn't all just a nightmare. 

Looking for a distraction, Sam checks his phone for the time, and instead finds it ringing. 

“‘ello?” He sounds as awake as he feels as his eyes adjust to the light of the room. 

It takes him a second, but as he looks Colby over, he finds his head is lolled to the opposite side, his hand now on his chest. 

“_Are the rumors true_?” Sam remembers the phone in his hand with shocking annoyance. 

“Elton?” He asks, barely paying attention. 

At his voice, Colby’s eyes scrunch. 

“Yeah, it’s Elton. Fuck, Sam. We've all been trying to get a hold of you guys since yesterday. What's happening? Are you guys okay?” 

“I don't know,” Sam breathes out in a rush, both at the onslaught of words and at the way Colby’s eyelashes flutter. 

“Sam,” Elton calls out, sharp, practically begging for his attention.

“It’s true.” Sam doesnt beat around the bush and his eyes don’t stray from Colby’s body, waiting for the next hint of moment. “We’re at St.Mary’s. They’re going to transfer Colby to a different wing with the next shift change. I haven’t answered anybody. My phone's probably almost dead.”

There’s silence, for just a second, and then, “Okay. It’s okay,” Elton reassures him. “Everyone’s a little freaked right now, no one really knows what happened, but they can deal. Worry about yourself and I'll handle things on this end. Your team lead is still the same, right?” The way he drops straight to business sends Sam’s head spinning. He didn’t even think of their management team. 

Their social media pages must be a blood bath by now. 

“Sam?” Elton’s voice is gentle then, cautiously trying to pull him back into the conversation. 

Instead, a wave of shakiness brings Sam back into the plastic chair he slept in. For just a second, he allows his head to fall forward again and his eyes to slip closed. 

After two mediocre breaths in, he opens them back up. 

“I didn’t call our management. I never even thought of it,” he admits, despite knowing that something of the story had made its way to social media. 

Elton, as always, doesn’t miss a beat. “It’s okay, man. They called each of us after the rumors started and they couldn’t get ahold of of you. If your management lead is still the same I have her number. I’ll call. I’ll handle it. Right now, everything else is just noise, okay? Just focus on yourself and Colby." 

In the face of Elton’s steadiness, Sam’s only made aware of how much he’s shaking apart.

Under the realization, his leg jumps anxiously and his lungs ache with the breath he’s holding. “Thank you,” he manages to choke out. 

“Is Colby- Is he okay? Are you okay? People are just saying they saw you at the hospital. The public really doesnt know anything. Hell, no one knows anything.” 

“I’m fine,” Sam promises emptily. “Colby’s-" he doesn't know how to explain any of this, "He’s alive.” 

Over the line, he can hear the alarmed breath Elton sucks in. 

“No- he’s okay," Sam backtracks, realizing how that sounded, "I mean, he's kind of okay, I think. He’s pretty beat up, but we’re not meeting with his doctor until morning after he’s had more tests.” 

“Scans?” Elton asks. 

“Brain scans, yeah,” Sam admits. 

“Shit,” Elton breathes out. 

Sam can only nod. 

“Just, when you can, keep us updated. I’ll let the group know. Everyone’s pretty much camped out at our place.” 

“Yeah. Will do,” Sam answers. Life is starting to feel unreal again, just after he thought he finally found his footing. “Let our management know we want everything kept on lock until we know what’s really going on. Tell them they can tweet from our account, just anything to get people to calm down and back off. I don’t want any fans showing up at the hospital or anything.” 

"It's a plan," Elton echos. "Text me or the group chat when you can, or if you need anything. We can bring clothes, or a charger, or just be there for you, man." 

"Thanks," Sam whispers, emotion caught in his throat. 

Once he hangs up, he takes the momentum he's gained in stride and goes straight from the phone call to his messages. It’s worse than he was expecting. 

Buried in the mess, he finds a text from his mom. ‘_We’re five minutes out._’

***

Mrs. Brock is stoic even with bloodshot eyes. She greets Sam in the lobby with a tight hug and hardly spares a second on his shaky, whispered “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not going to go around thinking all this is on you,” she tells him with a finality that makes something in his stomach unclench. At arms length, he’s sure she can read every emotion that passes his face, and seemingly satisfied, she nods, and pushes onward, to the receptionist desk.

Right behind her, as he passes, Mr. Brock’s hand grips Sam's shoulder in solidarity.

The relief of their unfaltering care for him is almost enough to set him back on his feet.

Still, Sam doesn't let himself turn to his own parents until the Brocks are gone, led off by a nurse to Colby’s room. It wouldn’t be fair to make them see the reunion they could've had if it had been Sam that had fallen instead. 

The second he manages to turn, his Mom is right there, her shaking hands cupping his face as she takes in his appearance. 

“You look awful,” she jokes half-heartedly. Her watering eyes and trembling lips betray her pressed smile. 

After everything, Sam can only fold into her, finally letting someone take the weight of the world off his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very obviously a filler chapter but it had to be done because next one- which will hopefully be posted tomorrow- is going to be Colby's pov :)
> 
> !Comments feed the writer!
> 
> On another note, for some reason I'm finding it hard to find the motivation to write this one. A couple days ago I ended up at urgent care and having my disgustingly sunny disposition on life was like 'at least this will give me good substance to pull from' to write this fic, but honestly nothing ever really came to me :( So if you have any suggestions for where this fic should go, I'll take them. I can imagine so many things I want to write out for this, but they're not translating to paper too well unfortunately.


	4. Chapter 4

The cafeteria in the hospital is bustling, tables filled at nearly every turn. 

“Do you think it’s always this bad?” Sam asks, as his Mom leads him forward to an empty booth. 

“It’s noon, Sam,” his Dad tells him. 

“Oh.” He sits down heavier than he means to. It’s almost been twelve hours since they were brought in. 

“What do you feel like eating honey?” His Mom hovers at his side while his Dad slides in across from him. It feels like they’re scheduling the way one of them is always with him. 

“I’m not really hungry,” he admits, but she brushes his words off and heads towards one of the food counters blindly. 

He barely gets a second of reprieve. “So, Sam,” his Dad starts, and Sam already knows he’s not going to like the conversation that’s about to happen. “We think you should come back to the hotel with us, just for a bit.” 

He’s already shaking his head ‘no,’ but his Dad plows on adamantly. “We know you’re worried about Colby, Sam- we are too- and we know you want to be here, but you need to take care of yourself.” 

He knows they’re just scared. But he’s had enough time to move past fear and into acceptance. “I cant go home and pretend this didn’t happen, Dad. It did happen. We almost died. Colby still-” he shakes his head to get rid of the thought. “I just need to be here for him.” 

“And I’m not asking you not to be. We just want you to take a minute to take care of yourself. We found a counselor-”

“No.” Sam ends it there, getting up and looking for the nearest exit. He’s done with this. 

He doesnt turn back as his Dad calls out for him. 

For minutes he mindlessly wanders the hospital hallways, trying to clear his mind, but he always ends up circling the same floor. When he can't avoid reality any longer and he makes it back to Colby’s room, the Brocks are huddled outside the door with Colby’s doctor. They don’t look happy. 

Sam can’t even begin to image what else could have gone wrong in the short time he was absent. 

“Sam, thank God,” Mrs. Brock calls when she sees him. 

He'd like to say he doesn't hesitate; that he goes forward with a bravery he'll never admit to not having. Instead, he’s forced into motion by them calling him closer. 

“Are you aware that you’re Colby’s medical proxy?” The Doctor asks without preamble. She’s a different one than the night before. 

“I mean, yeah. When we moved out here we both made each other ours just incase anything happened.” 

Silently, Colby’s Mom turns away from him, shaking her head. 

“Is that bad?” He asks uncertainly, after seeing her reaction. 

Even obviously angry, Mrs. Brock forces on a tight smile. “No. I’m sorry, Sam,” she reassures him, even as she wipes tears from her eyes. "That was smart of you two to do, I'm not mad at you." 

In support, Colby’s Dad wraps an arm around her. 

“This just means that any and all final calls will have to come from you until Colby is able to make them himself,” the Doctor explains. 

“Cant I just tell you to listen to them?” Sam asks, motioning uselessly to Colby’s parents. 

The Doctor shakes her head, admittedly looking more conflicted than she probably should. “Legally, we have to hear you sign off on anything until Colby either wakes up or assigns someone else as proxy. There’s also some discharge papers we need your physical signature on.” 

“Discharge?” Sam’s heart skips a beat. “What? What happened? Is he awake?” 

“I’m sorry, no,” The Doctor clarifies, quick to stop him from getting his hopes up. “We’re discharging him from the E.R. and sending him either to the respiratory wing or the head trauma wing.” 

“And I have to decide?” Sam looks to Colby’s parents for guidance, but they’re turned to one another, looking like they’re holding onto their last bit of sanity with the same tightness they’re using to hold onto each other. 

The Doctor takes pity on him. “After his scans we’ll have a more comprehensive meeting and lay his treatment options out for all of you. But for now, we just need him under a more specific care team.” 

“What do you suggest?” Sam asks. He feels like a kid as her sympathetic smile turns to Colby’s parents, as if she’s more willing to address the real adults in the situation. He can relate. 

“His lungs are holding up,” she says, then trails off. It’s the prerequisite to a ‘but.’ And sure enough, “But one of our nurses recorded blood on his lips and dripping from his nose when we changed his breathing tube from a cannula to a mask. It’s a worrying sign,” she admits as they fall silent in fear and uncertainty. “But it could just be that his lungs are trying to force everything out. This could potentially mean that he’s recovering well.”

“What about his head?” Sam doesnt want to hear any of this. It’s supposed to be reassuring, but it’s anything but. 

“With the way he hit his head, we would only worry if the bleeding was coming from his ears,” she answers. “It would be a sign that the pressure build up in his brain was so great that it found a way to drain on its own.” 

“Okay. So then how serious is the lung infection?” Colby’s Dad asks. 

Sam doesnt understand how he’s keeping it together, not until his eyes fall to Mrs. Brock, tucked away in his arms. She’s shaking apart like Sam was hours ago, and it’s then that he understands that Colby’s Dad is keeping it together by focusing on keeping her together. 

All the while, the Doctor flips through the chart in her hands, and eventually pulls up an X-ray. “We took these to check out his ribs,” she explains, tracing over the ones Colby broke. “But here,” she shows them where the bottom of the lungs turn white in the grayscale image. “Is where the infection is. In both lungs. It explained why his blood-oxygen levels were so low.” 

“Is that bad?” Mrs. Brock asks, tearing her eyes away from the x-ray. 

“It’s not preferable, but right now it’s not something that I’d put at the top of our list of concerns.” 

“So what does this mean for treatment options right now?” Sam asks. 

She hands him a packet, then a similar one to the Brocks. 

“Colby has aspiration pneumonia,” she starts, “He developed a lung infection from inhaling objects that shouldn’t have been inhaled, like the plaster and debris Sam reported seeing around him.” 

With scarily steady hands, Sam flips through the packet. A sample x-ray similar to Colby’s stares back at him on page five. 

“The head injury brings some further complications to the table. Colby needs to be awake and able to follow instructions for breathing treatments. Until then, the most we can do it keep him on oxygen and antibiotics.”

“Can it get worse?” Mr. Brock asks. 

Sam is already on page nine, eyes glazed as a chart of mortality rate by age range glares back at him. 

“If he goes months without being able to preform breathing treatments, yes.” She’s terribly frank. 

“But this chart,” Sam interrupts, showing it to her. He realizes a second later that she obviously knows what it says.

Uselessly, his hands drop. “It says mortality for his age bracket is nearly nonexistent.” 

“Sam,” she addresses him gently, “I’m confident that Colby’s lungs will recover. However, when looking at one and a million chances, sometimes you have to realize your potential to be that one in a million. If we ruled this out now, and went on without treatment because we were reassured by a chart that doesnt specify circumstances, Colby’s lungs would grow weaker by the day until it wouldn’t matter the state of his head injury; he wouldn’t wake up.” 

For a long moment, no one says anything. The weight of her words are heavy beyond compare. 

“I understand this is hard,” the Doctor promises him, “But he needs to be transferred today. I need an answer now, however it doesnt have to be permanent. We can move him again after his brain scans later today if something shows up that’s unfavorable.” 

“They’ll treat both in either ward?” Colby’s Dad asks. 

“Of course,” the Doctor reassures them. “It’s just best that you chose which specialist you’d like him under now. For example, we wouldn’t put a cancer patient seven floors away from their attending doctor just because they had a bad respiratory infection. The main, overlying problem there is obviously the initial diagnosis. We just want Colby to be closest to help that would focus on your main concern.” 

“Then head trauma for now,” Mrs. Brock speaks up finally, looking first to her husband, then Sam. “If he’s unable to do breathing treatments after he wakes up, then we can transfer him again.” 

“I believe that’s a good call,” the Doctor tell them all. “His head injury has appeared to stay constant since he was stabilized upon arrival. We’ll know more after the scans this afternoon and after he wakes up. Sam, does this sound good?” 

He nods his consent, and signs the transfer papers with shaking hands. 

“Do we-” Mr. Brock cuts himself off, forcing Sam’s eyes to him. He looks like he’s begging the words he wants to say to not leave his mouth. It takes him a second more to steel himself. “Do we know if he’s going to be the same…mentally?” 

Slowly, the Doctor shuts Colby’s chart, giving them her full attention. 

“We don’t,” she says gently. 

Sam doesnt breathe. 

***

The tests will take hours, the nurses tell them as they situate Colby in his new room. It’s bigger than the last and more private, with more chairs, a couch, tv, and bathroom. 

“The couch reclines for sleeping,” Katie, Colby’s newest nurse tells them. “This wall directly behind him will having everything you need.” She points out the assistance button, the emergency call button, and every other blinking light they could possibly ask about. 

“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to page me,” she tells them as she leaves them to settle in. 

After the last, painful talk with Colby’s old Doctor, they’ve all been floating around each other mindlessly, each trying to come to terms with things in their own time. 

Exhausted, Sam takes the chair by Colby’s bedside, throwing himself down without a care. Mrs. Brock is more cautious, settling on his other side. 

“They never combed out his hair,” she says, her hand smoothing down errant strands until it’s all pushed off Colby’s forehead. Little pieces of plaster come out one by one. 

“He’s going to be so mad, but I think they threw out his clothes,” Sam tells her, a smile somehow finding its way onto his face. 

Clearly tired, she smiles back at him, her eyes watery until she fixes her gaze on Colby. “I’ll tell you what, Colbs. If you wake up I’ll buy you anything you want. We can shop all day.” Her voice is heartbreakingly hoarse, sobs built up in her chest after hours of torment. 

Absentmindedly, she picks at his hospital gown, trying to pull it up over his shoulders. The sensors on his chest don’t allow it to come up all the way. 

_He’s cold,_ Sam remembers thinking when the ambulance first got to them. 

“I’m going to find him another blanket,” he tells the Brocks. 

Instead, he finds a empty bathroom. 

Splashing water on his face does next to nothing to wake him up. It just leaves him staring at a reflection he doesnt recognize. 

In that moment he considers the possibility that maybe he should’ve listened to his parents. The hotel sounds like a good escape from reality right about now. 

***

Colby gets back from testing just as Sam’s starting to fall asleep, curled into the side of the couch. At this point, he's starting to believe he'll never rest again. 

The Brocks headed down to the cafeteria not too long ago, and his own parents stopped in with bags of food for him just after. Everything’s still sitting untouched on a side table. He just hasn’t been able to force himself to eat, not when his last meal was a fast food run with Colby across from him in a sticky booth with a smile on his face all the same. 

“How’d it go?” He asks Katie, as he forces himself to sit up. The room spins for just a second, but ultimately rights itself. He shakes the dizziness off with squeezed eyes and a deep breath. 

“He slept like a baby through it all,” Katie jokes, locking down the bed's wheels. “They’re sending the results up to his team now. I think they’re looking to schedule the treatment meeting for five pm.” 

“Sounds good,” Sam nods, bringing over the blanket he was using and settling it over Colby. Katie helps tuck it around him, careful of his IV lines and the sensors she places back on his chest. 

“Can you clean his mouth?” Sam asks, when he notices the unsettling red tinge to Colby’s lips. 

He finds himself looking back at the door, praying the Brocks don’t choose that moment to come back. There’s something about the blood, about further proof of Colby’s depleted state, that makes him want to shield others from acknowledging it. 

“Of course.” She lifts off the oxygen mask with nimble fingers, and rummages through her supply cart for a towel. “If you feel comfortable, you can do this too,” she tells him. “Just wet it a little and swipe gently.” 

Sam watches her, but doubts he’ll do it. He has yet to force himself to touch Colby. It just feels wrong. He doesnt want to feel how still his body is. 

“Thanks,” he tells her, softly, as she finishes up. 

When she goes, she leaves a clean washcloth out for him. “Just in case.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so next one will be from Colby's perspective :') 
> 
> Comments feed the writer! 
> 
> Let me know how you want their reunion to go!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you liked and didn't, and if you'd like to see another chapter.
> 
> Comments feed the writer :)


End file.
